


It's the breathing that's taking all this work

by Morgyn Leri (morgynleri)



Series: As It All Burns [9]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, GFY, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 13:57:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3731410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgynleri/pseuds/Morgyn%20Leri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Valorum welcomes new arrivals to the safety of Confederacy space, while in the heart of the Empire, Sidious begins to shape what he hopes will be a lure for the apprentice he wanted a decade ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's the breathing that's taking all this work

Finis watches from his office as another battered ship lands, picturing the medics and others there ready for the casualties those ships will have - no one believes the final flight from the Jedi Temple was without injury and death - and quietly wishing he had the opportunity to welcome the Jedi as Dooku no doubt had done on Serenno. Snorting softly, he looks away to the desk that's covered in 'plast and data pads, the detritus of his work at least neatly stacked, for all the quantity of it.

Too much to do, and he hasn't the luxury here of an army of aides, or a moribund Senate. Drawing in a breath, he reaches for the next pile of unfinished work, the treaty with Ryloth that he finds somewhat distasteful in its terms. To allow the legal trade of slaves goes against his principles, but to forbid it means losing the Twi'lek world, and all they who follow it - first to their own independence, and later, no doubt, to the Empire.

He taps his fingers against the edge of the datapad a moment, before he closes his eyes, shaking his head slightly. It is not a treaty he would prefer, but so long as Dooku believes they can provide military support to Ryloth and their colonies, he will have to sign it. He will not sacrifice anyone to the Empire, to Palpatine and his prejudices.

"Your Grace?" His youngest aide knocks on the arch leading into his office, a smile on her face that has been absent far too long. "Masters Windu and Yoda are here to see you."

Finis gladly sets aside the treaty, a smile curving his lips that is as rare these days as that of Darra's, if less so when the subject are the Jedi. The former Padawan still has screaming nightmares of her own flight from the Republic after her master's murder by her own troops.

"Show them in, Darra, then you can take the rest of the afternoon for yourself, if you'd like." Finis knows there are days when Darra needs the distraction of work more than she needs time to be the youngling she should have the chance to be.

"Of course, Your Grace." Darra bows her head a moment before turning away, leading the two Jedi High Councillors in a moment later. She comes in, scooping up the piles that he's already taken care of with another, briefer, smile. "I'll file these before I leave."

* * *

Shmi doesn't know how long she's been in the cell, not with any certainty. The lights never go out, there are no windows, and no timekeeper. Only her hair growing out from the rough cut she'd managed with the knife that came with an early meal, weeks ago, maybe as much as a year. They'd taken that blade afterward, and she's not been allowed another since - whoever had bought her from Watto must not want her to have a chance to keep herself.

There is an incessant, grating hum that tries to get under her skin and into her thoughts, as much as the lack of time. To break her, she's certain, and she lets herself sink deeper into her own mind as much as possible. Hide everything and every thought, let nothing on the outside show anything but compliance and patience. She will find out what her new master wants from her sooner or later, and until then, she can wait.

It's nice, in a way, to have a chance to rest and to eat enough, though she worries what it might mean for later. What it bodes for what her new master wants of her.

She doesn't think of escape when a door opens, doesn't even think of her name, lets her thoughts slip away like water into sand. There are two beings, identical in red armor and cloaks, who do not speak as they pull her out, marching her down a hallway of the same gleaming black as her cell, into a large room which holds only a throne. Cold and stark as a desert night.

The floor is cold under her knees when they push her down, and Shmi waits in the hollow sound of silence after so long with unceasing sound. The throne turns, and there is a man - human, she thinks - robed and hooded in a deeper red than the guards. His face might have been kind, once, in a different life, but the calculation in his eyes destroys any sense of warmth that might once have been there.

"You may go now." He addresses the guards, gaze flicking away from her only briefly, and they move away, neither armor nor cloaks making any sound Shmi can hear over the ringing of silence in her ears.

She doesn't move once they're gone, waiting instead for her new master - and he can be little else, whether he is the person who bought her from Watto or someone who took her from the one who did - to give her instructions, or to do something to her. This is not the time for anything beyond obedience.

There is silence for a long moment more, before the man chuckles. "You will do well, Skywalker."

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "Work", by Jars of Clay.


End file.
